<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>But the righteous will hold his way by robokittens</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25390996">But the righteous will hold his way</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/robokittens/pseuds/robokittens'>robokittens</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Terror (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Clothed Sex, First Time, Hand Jobs, Intimacy, M/M, Repression, Sex Crying</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:22:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,688</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25390996</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/robokittens/pseuds/robokittens</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Come on," Tozer said. For a moment John feared that he was going to pat his own knee — like a father with a child, like an errant sailor with a portside doxy. He didn't: he spread his thighs wider. John thought that might be worse.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lt John Irving/Sgt Solomon Tozer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>114</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>But the righteous will hold his way</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>gonna stop misappropriating bible verses when i stop being obsessed with repressed religious characters, so, probably never thanks</p>
<p>big thanks to ktula for the (heh) dickpick! your knowledge is invaluable and very appreciated.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The legs of the chair scraped lightly across the deck as Sergeant Tozer sat back in it. It was almost nothing: over the sounds of the ship, John shouldn't even be able to hear the sound of wood moving against wood. It occurred to him that if the chair were to break he would have to get Mr Gibson to fetch him another one, but it stayed steady.</p>
<p>"Sergeant," he said, but Sergeant Tozer shook his head, a smile on his face. John wanted — he wished there were a smile on his own, to match it. He wasn't certain what his face was doing. The sergeant tipped back, just slightly, the front legs of the chair coming off the ground. His feet stayed planted; the muscles in his thighs flexing, the legs of his trousers pulling taut. When John looked at his face again, Tozer's smile was bigger, brighter.</p>
<p>"Come on," Tozer said. For a moment John feared that he was going to pat his own knee — like a father with a child, like an errant sailor with a portside doxy. He didn't: he spread his thighs wider. John thought that might be worse.</p>
<p>Tozer stayed quiet, watching John watch him, smiling. John wished fervently that his door locked — if someone were to walk just then and see Tozer sitting there, see him smiling like that … </p>
<p>The jacket of Tozer's uniform was tossed carelessly over the rail of John's bed. There was something about it that … it wasn't just the disregard of it, not just the seeming lack of … of any sort of <em>propriety</em>. It wasn't just the sight of Tozer in his shirtsleeves. In his shirtsleeves, in John's cabin. There would be no question. No one would — no one could question what was happening here.</p>
<p>He stepped forward. There wasn't much room to move about, especially with the chair brought in; one more step and there was nearly no space between them. "Come on," Tozer said again. It was soft, fond nearly. </p>
<p>John was hardly sure how it happened, that his knees were on either side of Tozer's, that Tozer's hands were on his waist. He could feel them, hot through the wool.</p>
<p>Tozer tugged, John went; and then he was sitting — sitting on Tozer's lap, <em>straddling</em> him. He could feel his face going red. He was shocked the chair didn't break. Tozer's hands were still on his waist. He couldn't believe how easy it was to let himself be pulled in.</p>
<p>One of Tozer's hands came up to rub at John's arm through his jacket. He thought about Tozer's hands in gloves, Tozer's hands on John's telescope, Tozer's hands on a gun.</p>
<p>"What sort are you?" Tozer's voice was low, a little amused. "Do you want to get down to it, or do you need a bit of romance?"</p>
<p>John opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat. He wasn't sure what he would say, anyway, what the answer was. What it could be.</p>
<p>Tozer just smiled again. "That answers that," he said. His hand kept rubbing up and down John's arm. He moved the other, and John nearly gasped — it seemed impossible that he could balance here, stay here, without Tozer's hands holding him down.</p>
<p>As Tozer cupped his chin, John couldn't understand what was happening until it happened, until Tozer brought their mouths together. It was light, barely anything, but it was more than John had had in … so long. Nearly ever. He shuddered.</p>
<p>Shuddered, but he didn't pull away, and Tozer — he kissed him again, kissed him, until John's mouth was going slack, nearly numb with it. Tozer's thumb soothed against John's jaw.</p>
<p>"Alright then, John," he said, against John's mouth where they were still pressed together. The way Tozer said his Christian name was just as intimate as — as anything else they were doing. </p>
<p>Tozer undid John's jacket, button by button, tugged at it until it peeled away from his shoulders. He barely had to lean over to set it on the desk, not quite neatly folded but laid more gently than his own. His hands slid to the back of John's neck, unfastening his stock, setting it on top of the jacket. John held his breath, held himself still. His neck felt hotter, exposed like this. Tozer rested his hand against it, cool, for just a moment.</p>
<p>And then he wrapped an arm around John's waist and hauled him somehow closer. John gasped: the suddenness of the movement, the force of it, and also — he could feel Tozer. Feel his prick, thick and hard. His hands, in fists on his own thighs, clenched and released.</p>
<p>He knew — he'd <em>known</em>, obviously, he'd known what this was, what was happening; known it when Tozer had quirked an eyebrow at him on deck and known it when Tozer slid into his room and known it when Tozer pulled him in, but —</p>
<p>Tozer pulled him even closer. It was gentle, somehow, this time; John realized he was shaking.</p>
<p>He turned his face into the hand Tozer cupped against his cheek, Tozer murmuring something soft and reassuring, Tozer's thumb rubbing gently under one eye. Like he was wiping away tears. John took a ragged breath.</p>
<p>And then Tozer wasn't touching him anymore — they were pressed together, but Tozer's hands weren't on him, weren't on his skin; Tozer's hands were on his <em>trousers</em>, undoing the buttons of his fly one by one. It was … it should have been startling, should have been upsetting, how easily Tozer could undress him. Should have been. But it was — </p>
<p>Tozer moved his body for him and John let him. Tozer eased John's prick out of his clothes and let out a breathy laugh at the sight of it. John's hands tightened again, his knuckles going white. He was staring — down, down at his hands, down at his knuckles, not at his prick and its growing hardness and not at Tozer's hand on it and not at where he could see Tozer straining through his own trousers. Not listening to Tozer laugh.</p>
<p>"Hey, no," Tozer said. One of his hands was still — still down there, thumb and forefinger wrapped loosely around the base of John's prick; the other tipped his chin up again. "Don't go shy on me. Not when you've got something like this on offer. Christ, John," he said, with another disbelieving laugh. John bristled at the epithet but he didn't — didn't push Tozer away. Didn't move. </p>
<p>"I can barely reach around this thing." Tozer said it admiringly, like it was something good; and he wrapped his whole hand around John's prick, all his thick calloused fingers moving against him, dragging up the length of him. He was … wrong, was <em>lying</em>; John could see clearly how his hand  — how his — how neatly John's prick fit into his hand, just the … just the right size.</p>
<p>John watched it, how Tozer's hand fit around him, the way his hand moved, easing John's foreskin from the flushed head of his prick, which was … <em>leaking</em>, hopelessly wet at the tip. </p>
<p>Tozer's hand tightened on his jaw and John wrenched his eyes away, watched as Tozer's eyes shut and his head tipped forward, and then they were kissing again. It felt … good, too good, almost better than Tozer's hand on him, and then Tozer's tongue slid into his mouth, against  his own, and John was so startled he nearly bit down. Tozer laughed; John could feel it.</p>
<p>For a moment he thought Tozer was going to say something but he didn't, just kept moving, stroking his prick, just kept licking into John's mouth, swallowing his heavy breath and all his gasps and moans.</p>
<p>And then Tozer moved back — couldn't move far with John on top of him like this, but he pulled away from the kiss. Before John could even react, almost before he could worry, Tozer rested their foreheads together. John could feel his hot breath on his face. He moved his <em>hand</em> away and John nearly keened with the loss, though he could feel it moving between them.</p>
<p>There was something else against John's prick then, thicker and more flushed with heat than Tozer's fingers had been, and John knew what it was. He <em>knew</em>, and he shut his eyes tight, dipped his head forward to rest it against Tozer's shoulder. Pressed his face there, pressed his eyes into the starched linen of Tozer's shirt. Tozer made a pleased sound. His hand moved to wrap around the back of John's neck, holding him.</p>
<p>"There we are," Tozer said, soft, pleased, like it was something John had done. "That feels good now, doesn't it?"</p>
<p>John couldn't manage a reply except for with … with his body, with his hips, jerking up into Tozer's grip. He hadn't meant to. Tozer laughed again, softly; John knew that it wasn't unkind.</p>
<p>Tozer kept moving his hand, both their pricks leaking, slicking his way. He couldn't — could fit his hand around John, whatever he'd said, but he couldn't fit his hand around both of them. John thought — thought he might help, thought he might wrap his own hand around the rest of them. Thought about his fingers tangled together with Tozer's. He could hear his own breath echo in his ears, could feel his heart beating in his throat.</p>
<p>He reached out blindly and put a hand on Tozer's thigh, high up. It wasn't so far — from the wool of his trousers to the wool of Tozer's, but he could feel as the muscle there tensed and then relaxed, as Tozer let out a pleased sigh that washed over John's neck.</p>
<p>"You feel so good," Tozer said. "Do you — tell me you feel good, John."</p>
<p>John opened his mouth. He could taste the fabric of Tozer's shirt, could taste the sweat beneath it. It was — damp, salty. On John's face, where he pressed his eyes against Tozer's shoulder. He screwed his eyes shut tighter; he took as deep a breath as he could manage. He wasn't sure what he would say, if he let himself start talking.</p>
<p>"<em>Oh</em>," he said, all that he could manage. Tozer slowed his movements, barely stroking. John could still feel them, pressed together root to tip. He knew Tozer was waiting. "I — I've never. Anything like it. It's … it's good. You're —" He bit his lip, released it. He knew how desperate his next words would sound before they even left his mouth: "Sergeant, <em>please</em>."</p>
<p>Tozer's hand stopped moving entirely. His shoulders shook, slight enough that John might not have noticed had his face not been pressed so tight against them. "<em>Sergeant</em>," he echoed. His voice was strained, caught somewhere between amused and overwhelmed. "Call me Solomon. John, <em>please</em>."</p>
<p>"Solomon," John repeated. It felt — disrespectful, nearly, on his tongue. "Solomon," he said again. Tozer's hand began to move again, his strokes still languid but speeding up. John wasn't sure how much more he could take. "Solomon," he said, one more time, "you're so —" He gasped, and then it was his hand on Tozer's face, him searching out Tozer's mouth with his own.</p>
<p>It was just shy of frantic, the way they moved against each other; though they'd kept their voices quiet, John worried they were breathing loudly enough that the men in the passageways would be able to hear them. They were pressed so tightly together that Tozer barely had to move his hand, John nearly rutting up against him. </p>
<p>He had never known — had never <em>dreamed</em> of knowing that … that something <em>like this</em> could feel so good. Had never thought that Sergeant Tozer, for all the half-looks they'd shared as they walked past each other, for all the times that Tozer had cupped Irving's arm companionably as they'd talked — he would never, could never have thought.</p>
<p>"<em>Oh</em>," he gasped out. "Oh," and he crumbled in Tozer's hands.</p>
<p>He felt — he had, of course, before. He tried not to take himself in hand, and he succumbed very rarely, but he <em>did</em> succumb. This was … a worse offense, he supposed, but in the moment, his breath heaving, his face tucked into Tozer's neck — he found he couldn't care. Not when one of Tozer's hands was clutching his shoulder, keeping him close; not when the other pressed them still together. </p>
<p>His own crisis passing, John could feel again how blood-hot Tozer's prick was up against his own.  Tozer still held them both and John shivered with it as his hand began to move again, even slicker now with John's release. He thought that if he looked down, if he opened his eyes, he would see it: Tozer's hand, covered in his spend. He shuddered again just at the thought of it, and shut his eyes tighter.</p>
<p>"Alright, John?" Tozer asked, but his voice was strained.</p>
<p>John swallowed, heavy. "Please," he said. "Solomon. Let me — let me feel you. Please. Let me." </p>
<p>His voice was muffled by Tozer's throat, but it didn't seem to matter: he felt Tozer reach his own release, spilling hot over John's prick as well as his own. Tozer kept stroking them both, slowly but steadily, nearly too much sensation; John thought he could feel his pulse in his prick, as if his heart was beating hard enough to shake his entire body. He wondered if Tozer could feel it. He wondered if this was how Tozer touched himself when he was alone.</p>
<p>The motion slowed, and with it John's breathing, until he was very nearly steady. He worried again, suddenly, that the chair would collapse beneath them. He raised his head from where it rested against Tozer's shirt and found Tozer already looking at him. He rubbed his thumb under John's eye again, then leaned in to press a kiss there, as well.</p>
<p>"So good you cried?" Tozer asked, and smiled like it was a joke. John started — he hadn't … cried, had he? He raised his own hand to the spot that Tozer had kissed, ran it through the damp there.</p>
<p>"I —" he started, and then stopped again; he had no idea what to say. <em>We can never do this again</em>, he thought, but when he opened his mouth to say it he found he couldn't. From the look in Tozer's eyes, perhaps he didn't need to. </p>
<p>"Up, then," Tozer said, all good-nature once again. He steadied John as he climbed off his lap, laughed only a little as John nearly stumbled. With John out of the way, Tozer was able to pull a handkerchief from his pocket; he wiped John down carefully, studiously, without looking him in the face; and then himself; and then, after a considering look at it, his other hand. The hand that — that had —</p>
<p>John felt his face heating up again; somehow, even now, standing here exposed like this — he put himself away, rebuttoning his trousers. He couldn't quite look Tozer in the eye.</p>
<p>Tozer stood up himself and tucked the handkerchief back in his pocket, tucked his prick back into his trousers. He plucked his tunic up from John's bed; he didn't turn back around, but John could see the movement of his arms as he slowly buttoned himself back into it, disappearing into the red of his station. "Not a bad time, then, was it?" he said, still facing away.</p>
<p>"Solomon," John said, carefully, and watched as Tozer's shoulders stiffened. </p>
<p>"Sergeant Tozer," he tried again, and Tozer turned finally to look at him. "Thank you."</p>
<p>Tozer nodded — the kind of nod he might give a fellow marine across the passageway; the kind of nod he might give John when he passed him on deck. "Lieutenant," he said, pleasant but deferential, distantly polite.</p>
<p>"Thank you," John said again. He didn't know what else to say. Tozer nodded once more. </p>
<p>The room was small enough that their hands brushed, as Tozer made his way toward the door. He looked back, just once, at John before he stepped through, and shut it again behind him. </p>
<p>John stared at his hands. He lifted one, slowly, his own fingers pressing to his cheek, and then his lips. "<em>Solomon</em>," he said, quietly, experimentally. And then he didn't say it again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i feel everyone should know that the word "hand" or "hands" appears in this fic 46 times and 38 of these times the hand in question is solomon tozer's and i would further like to clarify that this is entirely irving's situation and not mine, thank you, have a nice day.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>